


Blue Roses

by fits_in_frames



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-19
Updated: 2004-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-21 11:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1549130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam was early.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue Roses

Sam was early.

He usually came to Bag End a little after sunrise, but today, he came before the sun even hinted itself in the sky. He was planting roses, and he wanted to make sure that they were perfect for Mr. Frodo. He'd been saving up the seedlings for months, tending to them, watering them. Now they were small bushes and all but one were in perfect condition. The faulty one he was going to bring home and plant just outside his own window, no matter what his Gaffer said. Not only would it spare Mr. Frodo a rosebush that didn't bloom, but it would always remind Sam of his master, at all hours and through all seasons. He smiled at the very idea of it.

Sam didn't waste any time. He went straight to the shed and pulled out the tools he needed. _No use in makin' a lot of unnecessary trips, Samwise, d'you have everything?_ His Gaffer's voice rang in his head. "Yes, Da'," he murmured into the darkness, "I have everything." He made his way to the small patch of land right underneath the study window.

The spring morning was still young and dewy when he began to dig. His mind drifted back to the day Frodo had asked for these little budding rosebushes...

***

_You called me into the kitchen, poured me a cup of tea._

_"Uncle Bilbo's been gone almost ten years now, Sam. And he's not coming back," you said, "He'd always protested a rosebush in the garden. Now that he's gone, I'd like one or two, if it's not too much trouble." You looked at me, pleadingly._

_It was at that moment that I first noticed how beautiful your eyes were, how piercingly blue. I got lost in them for a split second, felt things I'd never felt before (at least around you) go pulsing through me. I cleared my throat. "What kind o' roses would you be havin', sir?" My eyes came back into focus._

_You'd turned to stir your tea. You weren't looking at me anymore. "Oh, any kind Sam." You sipped. "Just not that lass you've been courting." You flashed a grin and I couldn't help but chuckle at the absurdity of the pun._

_"I'll get right on it, sir." I smiled, but on the inside I suddenly felt empty. What was meant to fill that space, I didn't know._

_"Wonderful! Samwise Gamgee, I knew I could count on you! Here, let me walk you out." That was your polite way of saying, "I'm done with you, get back to work."_

_"No, Mr. Frodo, that's quite all right." I stood up and walked towards the door. "I know the way."_

_"No, Sam, I insist." You put down your tea and caught up to me. I was already was at the door. You placed your hand on my left shoulder. "Go make your gardens beautiful and my Bag End a sight to behold. And just call me Frodo." I could feel you smile at me._

_"I could never call you tha', sir." All of a sudden I didn't want to walk away. I didn't want that hand to leave me. But I knew it all had to happen, so I mumbled an obligatory "Good day, Mr. Frodo" and walked out the door you had opened for me._

_For the rest of the day, though your hand had barely touched me, my shoulder ached..._

***

By second breakfast, Sam was done. He stood up, held his back in slight discomfort, and admired his work. Four little rosebushes, all ready to grow. One of them had a single peek of a blossom; it was a deep azure color. _Only the most beautiful and rare for Mr. Frodo._

Then Sam realized, he hadn't heard Frodo get up. It'd been several hours since he'd arrived and Frodo usually had his breakfast in the study, while he was working. But it was already second breakfast, and there was no sign of him.

He finally heard his master's voice, through the partially-opened window. _Who could he be talking to?_ He hadn't seen anyone go in the front door and it wasn't like Frodo to keep guests overnight.

"Oh, just leave it, I'll get it later," he called into the spare bedroom as he made his way into the study. He looked out the window and opened it fully. "Well, hello there Samwise! Beautiful day, isn't it?" He was still in his nightclothes.

"Yes, sir, lovely day." Sam stood with his hands behind his back and nodded to the rosebushes. "D'you like them, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo stuck his head out the window and looked down. "Oh, Sam! Oh! They're beautiful!" He turned his head so his voice went inside the house. "Darling, look at what Sam did this morning!"

Sam heard the tinkle of feminine laughter and his heart sunk to his feet. The smile of pride was wiped clean from his face. He got his senses about him enough to form a complete sentence. "I don't believe I've met the lady, Mr. Frodo."

"Oh, forgive me! This is—" (when he turned to put his arm around the dark-haired lady-hobbit that came up behind him, Sam's rage prevented him from hearing her name, not that it mattered) "—a distant relation of mine. She was passing through last night and needed a cup of tea and a warm bed. I had both, so I invited her in." He motioned towards Sam. "This is my gardener, Samwise Gamgee. He does wonders with the growing things, don't you think, dear?"

The girl, who looked about half Frodo's age, simply smiled and nodded.

He turned to look at her. "Will you not speak, my flower?"

"Oh." She looked directly into his eyes, still smiling profusely. "I was just so in awe of the beauty sprawled in front of me I did not address the gentleman properly." She turned to Sam. "Forgive me, Master Gamgee, for my rudeness. This is a beautiful garden. You certainly have a knack for it." She giggled and Frodo kissed her temple.

"Go on, love, I'll put the tea on." He watched as she retired back to the spare room.

Sam was doing all he could to keep from bursting out crying or yelling or both. He gritted his teeth and offered to make second breakfast for two.

"That would be lovely, Sam. Just lovely." He turned his head quickly when the girl called for him. "If you could get on that, Sam..."

Before Frodo could say anything else, Sam replied, "Consider it done, sir."

***

A girl! All night, Mr. Frodo had been entertaining a girl! And a _young_ girl at that! Sam made sure he kept his mouth shut and his mind focused on cooking, not the giggles drifting down the hall. Or the sound of kissing. Or the— _No, no, Samwise, you have to keep your attention on the bacon or it's going to burn._ He called out, "Your meal is ready, Mr. Frodo!"

Frodo laughed. "Just a moment, Sam!" Sam could hear him talking in a juvenile tone to the girl. He knew it would be longer than a moment.

Sam sat at the table, one leg out straight. He brought his hand to his face and let his neck give in. He bit his lip to prevent himself from crying. His first thought was, _How could he?_ , but Sam knew perfectly well that Frodo had no idea how he longed for him every night. He didn't know that after Sam made sure his parents and sisters were asleep, he would, in the darkness of his room, see Frodo. He would see him, standing right there in front of him, naked, not speaking, only staring at him with those eyes and Sam couldn't help but touch the hardness he would feel forming between his legs. He knew that Frodo knew nothing of this.

He heard the couple walk towards the kitchen and stood up, pretending he'd been working the whole time. "This looks wonderful, Sam." Frodo smiled at him, picked up the two plates and carried them away, down the dark hallways of Bag End. The girl flashed a quick smile at Sam and followed. Frodo called back, "Make sure you eat something, Sam. I know how you forget sometimes."

"I'll see to it, don' you worry, Mr. Frodo." But Sam had no appetite. He had to know what they were doing, what they had been doing, but it would be impolite to ask or spy. So he went outside and started weeding.

He couldn't help but notice that every time he pulled out something with his left hand—no matter how small—a dull pain went through his shoulder.

***

It was just past high noon when she finally left. Frodo waved after her as she walked off. "I hope to see you again soon! I had a splendid time!"

"As did I, Frodo Baggins," she replied shyly, "As did I."

Sam, who was kneeling by the forget-me-nots, felt something in his stomach give out. He stifled a groan.

As Frodo turned to go inside, Sam caught his eye. He called to him. "Sam?"

Sam couldn't see straight. If Frodo hadn't come over to help him up, he surely would have fallen right over.

"Sam, are you all right?" He looked concerned.

Sam couldn't help but stare into the sapphire eyes. "I'm fine, Mr. Frodo. Don' worry about me." He turned and walked towards the shed. He heard the front door click shut. "Just fine," he muttered to himself.

***

The sun was low in the sky when Frodo asked Sam inside. The former was working in the study, and he called out the window: he needed to see him for a moment. Sam, beating his thighs with his fists, obliged.

By the time he got to the front door, he was all smiles. They walked through Bag End and chatted for a minute or two about the weather, the state of the Shire and the roses. When they got to the kitchen, Frodo took his arm and sat him down. "Sam, I know you're upset about the girl."

Sam didn't say anything, just stared at the table.

"Sam? Are you listening to me?"

"Y-yes, Mr. Frodo. Sorry." He straightened up, but couldn't look Frodo in the eye.

"Sam. Call me Frodo. Just Frodo. And there's no need for apologies." He reached across the table and took one of Sam's hands in both of his. "I know you're upset about the girl. You've been fuming all day, ever since you first saw her. What I don't know is why."

Sam felt the creamy whiteness of Frodo's hands on his own and had to fight back tears. How could he tell Frodo why? How could he tell him he saw him every night and pleasured himself to the image? How could he say, "Mr. Frodo, I know you've seen me courtin' Rosie Cotton, but it's really you I love"? How could he even tell him of the pain in his shoulder whenever Frodo wasn't around?

"Sam?"

His own name stabbed him in the heart. He loved and hated when Frodo said it; it sounded like white rose petals on a soft summer's wind. He felt a tear roll down his cheek, then another, and another. He started sobbing.

"Sam? Sam!" Frodo pulled his chair next to him and put his arm around him. His hand landed on Sam's left shoulder. It throbbed painfully. Sam buried his face in Frodo's chest and Frodo petted his hair. "Oh Sam, what's wrong?"

Sam straightened up and wiped his tears away. "Forgive me, sir," he choked out, "'Tis not my place to be doin' tha'."

"Sam." Frodo lifted his chin with a delicate finger, forcing him to look into his eyes. "Right now, I'm not your master. I'm your friend. Tell me what's wrong."

Sam averted his eyes and bit his lip. _Well, Samwise, it's now or never._ He searched for the right words, selected them as if they were the seedlings he'd doted over for all those months.

"Sam?"

Another teardrop fell from his eyelashes and splashed quietly on the floor. "Mr. Frodo, I..." His throat suddenly got tight.

"Just Frodo, Sam."

"I'm concerned you might've been, er, _with_ tha' girl last night," he blurted out.

Frodo tried not to look appalled at the bluntness of the statement. "And if I was?"

Sam shook off Frodo's arm. "It shouldn't matter to me, sir."

"But it does." Frodo replaced his arm. "Samwise, why does it matter to you?"

"Because..." A thousand things ran through his head. _Because you mean the world to me. Because I don't know what I'd do without you. Because when you say my name the rest of the world disappears. Because when I've had a rough day, a good pelting from my Gaffer or a teasing from my sisters, it's you who always welcomes me with open arms._ The last one that came to mind leapt off his lips without him thinking: "Because I love you."

Frodo's jaw dropped and he was silent for a moment. He pulled himself together. "Well, h-how do you mean, Sam?"

He hung his head. The words came easily now. "I love you like the flowers love the sun, Mr. Frodo: I need you."

Frodo withdrew his arm. "Oh. I-I had no idea, Sam."

Sam stared into the distance for a moment. "I suppose I should be gettin' back to work," he said absently, "The vegetables in the back need tendin'." He got up and walked out.

He didn't turn around to see Frodo's face, but if he had, he would see the tearstains already forming.

***

Nothing else really mattered for the rest of the day. His heart wasn't in his work. It was out in the open now; there was nothing more Sam could do about it. And the response he'd gotten from Frodo was as good as rejection.

The sun was halfway behind the horizon when Sam glanced towards the back door of Bag End. There he was. The orange of evening reflected off his clean, unironed, white linen shirt. He wore no jacket or waistcoat, and tattered britches without suspenders. His hair was all askew and his face was pale as the moon. His hands were shoved in his pockets and his eyes alternated between the ground and Sam. He walked slowly towards his gardener. Sam kept working, pretending not to notice.

Frodo walked until he was practically on top of Sam. Then he knelt down, craned his neck so he could see Sam's face. Sam turned away, afraid Frodo would see his tears. Frodo placed a hand on his cheek and turned his face towards his own. He gazed at Samwise, but didn't speak.

Sam pulled away from the hand and stood up. He started sobbing into the early evening sky. "Mr. Frodo, I—I—I'm sorry, I didn' mean it to go tha' way. I meant it to be much more formal, y'know, I'd tell you when the roses bloomed that they were for you, and they were what was in my heart, Mr. Frodo. I've never been one for poetry, sir, but you make me think things and say things that can't be thought or said no other way. But the girl, she just made me so angry that I—"

Frodo grabbed his arm, spun him around and planted his lips securely on Sam's. His hands reached to the sun-tainted face, thumbs wiping away the tears that still fell. Sam placed his hands on Frodo's shoulders and deepened the kiss, allowing his lips to part slightly. He felt Frodo's tongue on his and shivered. He opened his eyes and suddenly pulled away.

"What was tha' for, Mr. Frodo?" he almost yelled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I thought that was what you wanted, Sam. I thought you loved me." There was nothing mocking or sly in Frodo's tone, but Sam couldn't help but feel insulted. Frodo's face turned a deep pink. Sam started to walk over to where he'd been working. Frodo reached out for him, but quickly pulled his hand back. "I'm sorry, Sam. I'm sorry I ever came out."

Sam didn't respond, only picked up his tools and headed for the shed. He looked back just in time to see Frodo's left heel disappear into Bag End.

***

Sam couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned, even got up and paced a few times, but he just couldn't sleep. He kept seeing Frodo's eyes: they were blank. No expression in them at all: no passion, no desire, nothing. Just a fiery tint of blue. They didn't make him aroused as they usually did; no, they frightened him.

He stuck his head out his window and searched for the moon. Judging by that, it was just past midnight. He had to do something—anything—to stop this ache in his heart. He knew he had to go to Bag End. He put on his britches and suspenders, tucked his shirt in, and tiptoed out of his room. His parents had retired early: he was exceptionally quiet, but didn't have to explain himself. He softly shut the door behind him and padded down to the road.

Then he started running.

It would only be a ten-minute walk, he knew, but running would get him there faster. He needed to see Frodo as soon as he possibly could. The image of his eyes was making him go mad with fear and, now, desire. With every swing of his legs, his thigh brushed against the engorged member between them and he couldn't stand the throbbing in his shoulder. He got to the front gate of Bag End, leaned up against it, catching his breath. He snapped it open, walked up the path to the front door. He saw the rosebushes he'd planted. The peek of a blossom was now a small flower, blue and piercing in the moonlight. Sam shook his head, took a deep breath and knocked three times.

He heard Frodo's footsteps and froze. What was he doing here? Why had he come in the middle of the night and awoken the one person he truly loved? What a fool he wa—

"Yes, yes what do you—" He saw it was Sam. His eyes quickly darted away. "Hello Sam. You're a bit early for work, aren't you." It wasn't a question.

Sam didn't respond. His mouth seemed to be glued shut.

Frodo turned to walk inside but left the door standing open. "Well, as long as you're here, you might as well come in, Sam. And close the door behind you." He almost sounded angry.

Sam couldn't move. There was a lump in his throat, a throb in his shoulder and a fire in his belly. _One foot in front of the other, Samwise, one foot in front of the other_ , a voice in his head whispered. He followed its instructions, and Frodo's as well. Soon he was in the parlor of Bag End, plodding slowly towards the kitchen, where he knew he'd find Frodo. "Mr. Frodo, I—"

"Samwise Gamgee, how many times do I have to tell you: just call me Frodo." His voice was stern.

Sam rounded the corner. "Beggin' your pardon, sir, but I just can't do tha'."

"Fine, Sam. But if you've come here to apologize, there's no need." He was sitting stiffly at the wooden table with an empty mug cupped in his hands.

"Forgive me, sir, but I wasn't about to apologize." He realized how rude that sounded as soon as the words left his mouth. "Not yet, anyway." Yes, that felt better.

"All right, Sam, go on then." He stared off into the distance, not focusing on Sam at all.

"Mr. Frodo, I—I want to know why you kissed me." The words sounded so awkward.

Frodo's eyes snapped up to Sam's. "You want to know why, Sam? You want to know _why_?!?" He was clearly angry, but his voice was still soft.

"Y-yes, Mr. Frodo. You asked me why; now it's my turn. It only seems fair to me." He clasped his hands behind his back, trying to look as noble as a Gamgee could in Bag End.

"Very well, Sam. I kissed you because..." He rubbed the handle of the mug in small circles with his thumb. "Because I _was_ with the girl last night. And it didn't feel right. I've entertained my share of lasses, Sam, but they've never felt right under me. I've never been comfortable with our skin touching or my lips on theirs. Oh, yes, they're lovely to look at, they're wonderful companions. But they make me feel..." He paused, searching for the right word.

"Empty." Sam wasn't looking at Frodo, but he could feel the blue flames buried in his flesh.

"Yes, Sam. They make me feel empty, like something is missing." He stopped swirling his thumb on the mug and put it down. He stood up, took a step towards Sam. Sam turned his head and Frodo lightly touched his lips. "But when I kissed these this afternoon, nothing was missing. I felt whole, I felt complete. That was why I kissed you. I wanted to know if kissing _you_ would fill that space in my heart. For a brief moment it did." He withdrew his hand and turned away. "But now it is bigger than ever."

Sam relaxed his stance and placed a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "I said I was goin' to apologize, sir. I mean to honor that."

Frodo, wrapped in his own arms, nodded silently.

Sam took a deep breath. "Especially now that I know you feel the same as me, Mr. Frodo, I want to say I'm sorry for thinkin' you were mockin' me today. I didn' know I'd hurt you."

Frodo turned to face him. His eyes were heavy with tears and he obviously hadn't paid attention to the apology. "She said something, Sam, that made me realize what an absurd ordeal I've been putting myself through. She said, 'Frodo Baggins, we've been at it for an hour and your cheeks are not even pink.' I've never felt heat rush to my face in a moment of passion. I've never even blushed in the presence of a lady. But every time I see you working in the garden and your glance happens upon me—whether you can actually see me or not—I need to refresh myself with a splash of cold water. There's a fever in my blood, Sam, whenever you call my name. And when I touch you, it's like my whole body is on fire."

He braced himself on a chair and Sam's shoulder. Sam winced.

"I burn for you, Sam," he panted. His brow was slick with perspiration. "I've never admitted it before, but when I'm with a lady, I see you. I see your face beneath me. But when I feel the touch of breasts below me, I snap out of the trance and the fire is gone." He grabbed both Sam's hands in his own, pulled himself close to his gardener and whispered, "I burn for only you, Sam."

Sam had never felt Frodo's hands this warm. His whole face was flushed and his eyes were hot as the coals that glowed in the fireplace. His whole body was—as he'd put it—on fire. When Sam felt something hard against his leg, he knew Frodo wasn't lying. Sam cupped Frodo's jaw in both his hands and kissed him. Frodo hung his arms off of Sam's, opened his mouth as if to speak, and almost swallowed Sam's tongue. Suddenly, his knees gave out and he fell backwards onto the table, Sam on top of him. He shoved up a bit so his whole torso was on the table. Sam followed by standing on his toes, kissing the whole way. The master gasped for air as Sam began tonguing his neck. Frodo's left arm flung out wildly. Sam heard the mug fall to the floor and shatter.

He made a move to pick up the pieces, but Frodo pulled him back by his hair and whispered roughly, "Oh, just leave it, I'll get it later." He smiled and kissed the patch of skin just in front of his ear, which happened to be a very sensitive spot for Sam. The gardener felt his erection heighten.

Frodo began to unbutton Sam's shirt, but Sam protested. "Mr. Frodo, don' you think we should be movin' to a more...comf'rtable settin'?" He kissed the corresponding place by Frodo's ear and his master gasped again.

"Y-yes, Samwise, I supposed you're right." Sam started to walk out of the kitchen. Frodo grabbed his shirt and kissed him full on the mouth, then smiled his way out of it. "You didn't think you could go straight to my bedroom without _me_ kissing _you_ for real, did you?" He nodded towards the chamber. "You know the way, Sam."

As Sam was walking down the hall, Frodo suddenly jumped on his back. "Mr. Frodo?" He tried not to sound surprised.

"My legs can't hold me up, Sam." He licked Sam's cheek. "Carry me."

He _did_ like the feel of Frodo's body full against his, erection digging into his back. His legs were wrapped around Sam's waist, holding him tightly. But Sam, who was wrought with desire and exhausted from a day's work, could barely stand _without_ Frodo clinging to him. "Sir, with all due respect, could I at least carry you in front of me?"

Frodo didn't protest, just hopped down. "No, no, Sam, it's all right." He grinned. "I was just hoping to get a free ride. I think I can make it." Indeed, he almost was already quite a few steps ahead of Sam. _At least one of us can walk on his own._

When Sam finally made it to the bedroom archway, Frodo had already sprawled himself out on the bed, lying almost on his side, legs open in a half scissor-kick, arms neatly clutching his chest. It was quite obvious there was nothing between him and his gauzy nightgown. His cheeks were still bright pink; the combination of white and wet on his forehead made it glow in the moonlight that came streaming through the window. Sam was frozen with desire.

"Are you just going to stand there, Samwise Gamgee?"

Sam's jaw started bobbing up and down like a fish out of water. He couldn't form words at all. He stepped towards the bed, shedding his own clothing as he walked. He climbed up onto it, between Frodo's legs, kneeling. He pushed up the nightgown so it was at the top of Frodo's chest. Frodo promptly took it off all the way, so they were both naked. Sam didn't look down, but he could feel his hot hardness brush Frodo's. Both shuddered at the touch. Sam put his hand on Frodo's and began to stroke it, gently.

A guttural moan came from Frodo's throat as he reached for his nightstand. He opened a drawer, pulled out a small bottle, and handed it to Sam. "It's Elven oil, Sam," he breathed.

"What exactly do I do, Mr. Frodo?" Sam was nearly doubled over with the heat in his belly.

Frodo grabbed the bottle, opened it and put some on his hands. He started stroking Sam, focusing on the tip, using the same motion with his thumb he'd used on the mug. It felt like silk, and smelled of leaves in moonlight. Sam uttered a wordless cry and did the same to Frodo till he didn't think either of them could stand it anymore.

He leaned down and whispered into Frodo's ear, "How's tha' suit your fancy?"

Frodo's eyes burned bright. He grabbed Sam's hair and fought with his ecstasy to utter a single word: "In."

Sam understood. He moved Frodo's legs even further apart and dug his hand into the dark space. He forced the opening to spread.

"Oh Sam," Frodo whimpered.

He put Frodo's ankles on his shoulders; his left one was still throbbing.

"Oh—oh Sam."

He didn't say a word, just closed his eyes and pushed himself in, harder than he ever thought possible.

"Oh—oooh—S-Sam—Sam—oh..."

His hips bucked, his face rushed with heat and he came inside Frodo.

Frodo shuddered and groaned, "Oh Sam," one last time, and then there was a sticky wetness on Sam's belly and chest.

He pulled out and let Frodo's legs slide down his arms. Frodo curled them in.

He saw Sam's now-white belly and grabbed his nightclothes. "Here, here, clean yourself up."

Sam took the white gauze and placed it between them as he crawled to kiss Frodo. "I think tha' does the trick, Mr. Frodo," he whispered playfully. Frodo's face was red and searingly hot, but Sam kissed him just the same. His lips burned wildly.

"You see, Sam," Frodo panted as he wiped his upper lip, "I burn for only you."

"Tha' you do, Mr. Frodo." They turned so they lay facing each other, Sam on his right side. "Tha' you do."

Frodo closed his eyes and Sam kissed the lids. They both said good night and slept, holding each other as if they'd never let go.

***

Around four in the morning, Sam awoke suddenly. His left shoulder was throbbing again. He pulled himself away from Frodo's now-loose grip. His right hand clutched the shoulder in an effort to massage away the pain, to no avail. Frodo stirred.

"Sam?"

He didn't respond, just kept rubbing his shoulder.

Frodo stroked his face, pushing a single golden curl from his forehead. "Sam, are you all right?"

"No, Mr. Frodo. I'm not."

He stopped touching Sam's face for a moment. He sounded exasperated when he said, "Sam, for the last time, just call me Frodo."

"I could never do tha', sir."

"Well, is there anything I can do?" His hand returned.

"I rightly don' know."

"How's this?" Frodo peeled Sam's fingers from his shoulder and kissed it lightly. The ache disappeared.

"Tha'—tha' seems to have done the trick, Mr. Frodo." Sam was stunned.

"Good." Frodo relaxed and nuzzled into Sam's chest. "I love you, Samwise."

"I love you too—" he swallowed hard and whispered so even he could barely hear himself "—Frodo."

***

 

Sam awoke before daylight. He lifted his head, surprised to find himself not in his own bed. Then he saw Frodo and remembered. He wrapped his arms around his master—his Frodo—and kissed the top of his head. Frodo's eyes opened and looked into Sam's. They were still bright, but they were not the same fiery hue they had been the day before. Sam did not feel threatened by them as he once did.

Frodo sat up, yawning and rubbing his eyes. "We had quite a night, didn't we Samwise?" He grinned mischievously.

Sam couldn't help but crack his lips into a smile. "Yes, tha' we did, Mr. Frodo."

Frodo looked down at his own naked body. "I supposed we should put some clothes on?" He lifted an eyebrow and laughed. "What would someone think if they saw the two of us walking around Bag End in naught but our skin!" Sam laughed with him. They both got dressed, silently smiling at each other.

Sam walked towards the kitchen.

Frodo called from the study, "Oh! Sam! Come look! Quick!"

Sam backtracked to Frodo. He motioned for him to come to the window.

"Look." He pointed down, just outside. All four of the rosebushes had bloomed overnight, and all bore flowers of a bright azure color. "I think you did this on purpose, Samwise Gamgee. You planned this all out ahead of time, so that when we woke up after last night, we'd have a beautiful sight to behold." He turned to Sam and winked.

"Or perhaps," Sam suggested, " _you_ made them bloom. They _are_ the same color as those pretty eyes of yours." He blushed.

"Perhaps." Frodo moved in, grabbed Sam's shirt, pulled him close and kissed him. "Perhaps not."

The sun was just coming up. It streamed into the study and bathed the hobbits in a golden light. "I'll get us some breakfast, Mr. Frodo."

"That would be lovely, Sam. Just lovely." Frodo let go of his shirt and smiled as his gardener—his Sam—left the room.

For the second day in a row, Sam was early.


End file.
